


Stars Didn't Fall From the Sky

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-08
Updated: 2010-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-EW. Quatre is still trying to reconcile differences, but he needs help to manage it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars Didn't Fall From the Sky

So he went to this party. And there were guys in half-tucked Hawaiian print shirts and khakis. Most of the women went in spaghetti straps or bikinis except for the one lounging on the couch. She wore what might be a suit. She definitely had the tie. The air conditioning was enough to offset the desert breeze blowing in the open windows. Everything smelled fresh and new. The sky was blue. The leaves of exotic plants actually shined.

"What are you wearing?"

The voice startled him, as if he considered going through the entire evening simply observing. That _was_ what he had planned. As he turned around, the woman offered him a glass of something that looked and smelled like tangerine. He replied, "Me?"

"Yes, Jimmy," she reached out and fixed his collar with her long fingers. "I'd suggest either this shirt. Or that one. But not both. Definitely... not _both_."

"I'll keep that in mind." He resisted the urge to tug at his clothes and took a long drink from the lip of the glass. The straw bumped his cheek threatening to poke out his eye. The whole situation was not his normal Friday evening.

"Drink up, but it's going to take several of those to rebuild that courage you're missing." The woman pivoted at her waist as if she was a wood nymph who longed to be dancing free. Her lips smiled as she caught him looking. "I'm Dorothy."

"Nichol. Jim Nichol, but I guess you already know that." He tipped the glass back leaving only the slush that refused to separate from the glass.

"Doesn't hurt to know the guest list, and I had a hand putting it together."

"So you know our host?" Nichol wanted to go outside, but the pool was there and he didn't see any open seats.

She nodded, "He's rather generous with his cash and his invitations. But it's not like the Winner family is in danger of running out of resources any time soon. He has a way of charming over everybody."

"Quatre? I haven't actually met him."

"So why did you come?"

Nichol chuckled, "I'm not exactly sure. Free food?"

"Oh you say?" Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "I heard that your settlement was huge."

"Maybe that's the difference between old money," Nichol waved around the room with his empty glass. "And new money. I don't know how to spend it."

"Obviously."

She moved on and Nichol found a place in the corner where he could watch the musicians. Anyone who saw him would assume he was really into acoustic guitar. Part way through one song, he realized she'd insulted him. But a quick glance around the room showed the young woman was gone.

***

He bought a house because it was expected, nothing too exciting but with enough property to justify hiring a full-time gardener and a maid. Then he purchased a car. He covered it in the garage, took a taxi to the airport and took the next available transportation to the moon.

***

The Lunar capital was a new city. No one had been born there. The businesses were all fledgling ventures, even those with solid backing from Earth companies weren't guaranteed success in the new climate. Moonies developed their own culture by rebelling from the colonies and the planet both. Nichol enjoyed the atmosphere better than the alternatives. He let his hair grow out and worked part-time for a local botanist who engineered flowers.

"Nichol, take the truck to the embassy. I've already loaded it. Make sure to park with the logo facing the street this time. Advertising. Let them all see who the rich hippies get their flowers from..."

Nichol shouted back, "Yeah, yeah. I got it."

The embassy was close to his apartment, so he stopped to switch his clothes from the set covered in soil and manure. Stinking like a barn probably wouldn't do much to impress anyone either.

The flowers were cut and arranged in tall, narrow glass vases. He opened the back and started to unload the first crates on the side of the road. As he went back inside the cool truck to get the next set, he heard a ruckus of unhappy chatter outside. He poked his head out to see a familiar face.

"Dorothy, right?"

"What have you done?" The woman waved her arms over the flowers. "Inside, they need to be inside now. I've only got a few minutes before they move from the lecture hall to the dining area."

"Right, okay," Nichol complied. "Point me in the right direction. But remember, I only have two arms here."

Dorothy stared at him as if that limitation was somehow his fault. Then her frown slipped and she rubbed her cheeks with her fingers. "They all think these things happen magically and only notice my work when things go wrong. I guess the stress was getting to me."

"Slow down, woman." He motioned at the door.

When she opened it she peered at him more closely. "I remember you, now. The guy who didn't have a woman to dress him. I see that hasn't changed."

Nichol laughed, "Hey, this goes as quite fashionable on the moon."

"Keep telling yourself that."

***

With the flowers set and turned _just so_, Dorothy took Nichol into the back room where a tray of untouched sandwiches, vegetables and fruit were set on a table. She bit into a strawberry and groaned. "I really shouldn't. But if we don't eat a lot and shuffle them just so, no one notices."

Nichol took a half sandwich and watched as Dorothy shifted the tray so the empty spot seemed less obvious.

"How did you get this job?" he asked.

"I needed to be doing something, and with the aristocracy dissolved my skills are rather unmarketable," Dorothy smiled. "Of course, I'm not too proud not to take a job when its offered to me."

"Aristocracy? Then you _have_ money."

"Allowance, but you're right. I don't need a job any more than you do, flower boy." She reached for another carrot when the door opened and a slender man with blonde hair burst into their brief rest with a shout.

"Dorothy, help!" Then the young man noticed Dorothy had a companion. Tilting his head, the person in the pink suit noticeably calmed himself. "Hello."

"He's with the flowers, but if he looks vaguely familiar he's Jim Nichol, that ex-soldier who won the case of wrongful imprisonment," Dorothy supplied.

"Right, oh!"

Then Nichol realized he was meeting Quatre Winner, the host from months back. "You throw a nice party. Didn't see you there..."

"Quatre's excellent at double-booking himself." Dorothy crossed over to drape her arm over Quatre's pink shoulders.

"That's why I have you to help me." His nose turned as pink as his shirt. Then as if he couldn't prioritize himself over anyone else, Quatre tried to shake Nichol's hand. "Thanks for the flowers."

"I'm pretty sure you paid for them." Nichol wanted to tease the other man further, but just didn't have it in him. So he accepted the handshake.

"Right. Right," Quatre repeated as if trying to get his bearings.

"Whatever it is you need, I'm on it." Dorothy soothed, using her arms then to turn Quatre back to the door. "I want to hear you had a good time entertaining the diplomats."

"The moon is acceptable as neutral territory, but the conversation has been polarized since the talking started. However I might have the Noventas on my side..." Quatre continued to talk even as Dorothy nudged him into the hallway.

"So what did he want?" Nichol asked when Dorothy turned around dusting off invisible responsibilities from her hands.

"What?"

"He came in here asking for help," Nichol couldn't stop smiling as he saw Dorothy back up and chase after her employer.

***

Nichol was glad he'd cleaned up earlier when Dorothy put a uniform into his hands and begged him to fill in for the missing catering staff. She quickly changed into a female version of the same style and Nichol adverted his eyes.

"I'll make it worth your while. I promise!" Dorothy huffed as her fingers did up the buttons in the front when Nichol dressed too slowly for her interests. "Just say nothing to anyone. I'll show you what to take out in what order. This is a nightmare."

"I'm sure I've been given worse missions," Nichol mused.

"I never thought I'd..." Dorothy pinched her lip. "It's all so domestic."

Nichol laughed, "I'll follow your lead then."

***

As far as patch-up assignments went, Nichol thought the evening went rather smoothly. The men were in full uniform, as if unable to separate from past loyalties. The women were modestly beautiful. In particular, the granddaughter of Noventa had a charm about her that brightened her corner of the spacious dining area. Nichol had edged his way toward her, until Dorothy glared at him with a hissed, "Stay on your side. Fill that glass with water."

Quatre tried to upset all their stomachs with a presentation of the economic struggles in the different colonies and how space needed to come together with Earth to resolve some of their mutual needs. Of course, Nichol only listened when he wasn't doing an elaborate dance with Dorothy in the narrow kitchen.

"So why aren't you sitting at one of the tables?" Nichol asked when Dorothy declared she could handle the rest if Nichol would put his arms into the dish water and scrub.

"My family didn't exactly perform well during the Gundam Wars. We weren't left destitute, but lost our political positions." Dorothy seemed indifferent. "I think I'm done with global battles."

"Just sticking to the ones in the kitchen. I get that," Nichol nodded. "Me too."

"A chance for a new beginning. It's not that bad," Dorothy seemed apologetic then and pushed open the door with her back, arms full of delicate desserts.

"No," Nichol sprayed down a plate. "Not that bad."

***

The guests returned to their hotels and Quatre took off his jacket to help with the tearing down of the tables. He seemed incapable to saying anything that wasn't _thank you_ or _I couldn't have done this without you_ despite their reassurances that everything was fine. So Dorothy had Nichol turn on the audio system and piped through a local Lunar station. Nichol enjoyed the music more than the other two, but the wild rhythms did urge their exhausted muscles to finish the tasks at hand.

"Now what?" Dorothy asked, when the music was turned down and the room looked barren and clean again.

"Good job, everybody," Quatre said, wearily. "I couldn't have done it..."

Dorothy shot Nichol a fast look although he wasn't certain what she expected him to do. He interrupted, "They have some interesting equipment in here. Do you mind?"

"Sure, why not?" Quatre found a folding chair and sat in it. His pink shirt was unbuttoned falling open to the white shirt underneath.

Nichol found the electronic board and the room went dark only to be lit again with the stage lights and colors. He pondered the set-up then started matching the mood of the lights to the music on the radio.

"Dance with me!" Dorothy went over to Quatre and while he took her hands, she had to tug him back to his feet again. Nichol chuckled at whatever those two thought was dancing. But Dorothy had a smile on her face and something like victory kept them both upright regardless of the late hour.

He found a mic and made amplified observations. "Now introducing the champions of our ballroom dancing competition. Or should we call them the _Winners_."

Dorothy's laughter was irresistible even while Quatre shook his head.

The darkness of the room was broken when the main door opened. Brilliant white flooded in from the hall and the shadow of a woman lingered halfway between. Nichol killed the feed from the radio and peered at the equipment until he was able to restore the original lights.

"Sylvia." Quatre went to her. "Is everything okay? Did you forget something? We were picking up and I didn't notice..."

"I'd called your staff and Rashid said you were still here." Sylvia clutched her purse and seemed uncertain if she should be there.

"It's too early to call it a night," Dorothy interjected. "Invite Sylvia to go out with us. Why visit the moon if you're not going to enjoy what makes her famous. The night life."

Nichol covered his mouth to hide the groan, but he wondered if that invitation was going to be extended to him.

"I'd like that," Sylvia smiled gently.

"You too, Jimmy." Dorothy turned and pointed at her conscripted help for the evening. "Have you learned how to spend your money yet?"

"Work in progress," Nichol called back. He closed down the equipment and walked to the others who were talking about what they might want to do next. They were younger than he was, but then again... when exactly had he become old? Sylvia's glances lingered on him with interest.

"Sounds like a plan," Quatre decided when Dorothy outlined her idea from the given suggestions.

Nichol might have intentionally walked ahead with Sylvia while Dorothy went to get her coat.

"Have you taken one of the hoppers yet? If you don't get motion sickness, they're one of the more amusing nuances of moon life," Nichol said conversationally.

He stopped walking when Sylvia said, "Transportation, that's right! I was going to ask: do you know who owns the truck out front? It's being towed."


End file.
